Muffie

My bed is my shrink each morning, and I therefore lie in it, in Nick and Nora starry sky pajamas from Target that were recently a Halloween costume, between flannel sheets with woodsy illustrations on them from TJ Maxx — for far too long. After I emerge, I put on Tommy Hilfiger jeans from my favorite thrift store, biala shoes from the same thrift store, a short-sleeved red cotton sweater my neighbor gave me as a hand-me-down that I think looks cute even though it now has several pulls, and the same long-sleeved black t-shirt from Target I wore yesterday — not in that order, because that would be a strange way to dress. For jewelry, I went with earrings and a bracelet from a certain very exclusive direct sales company I used to work for, a necklace my cousin gave me that is a shell and a stone on a string (made by her friend Wheels who used to be a bike courier), and my grandmother's seal ring.

I went to work, at which I had several meetings, and lunched with a favorite administrator — while still wearing the same clothes.

After work, I will likely decide that these jeans are a little snugger than I prefer, and change into the Bella Elemento jeans I got at a clothing swap last night (I originally purchased them on ebay for $8, then swapped them away to a friend, then got them back last night because I'm running out of jeans without holes), keeping the rest of my ensemble intact. At that point I may decide to go out to a favorite watering hole, donning a 13-year-old red down vest from Eddie Bauer, which clashes whimsically with the red of my sweater.

Day 18 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful that I am not Muffie Potter Aston, and that I can reliably say that having my children compliment my outfit is unlikely ever to be "as good as it gets" for me. That may be because I have neither children nor a Badgley Mischka Couture silver sequin mermaid-style dress with double tulle overlays, but I don't think so.

OK, now I feel like I have a little bit spoiled the month of gratitude with snark. I'm keeping the snark, obviously, because it's funny to me, but I'll also give you some actual gratitude that isn't just being mean to someone else.

Day 18 of my month of gratitude, seriously: I am thankful that there are clothes on my back, that it is a gorgeous fall day in New England, and that others do not judge me as harshly as I sometimes judge.

Bulletins

When I came in this morning, my office bulletin board was covered with lots of stuff — as it has been for a long time. My leave reporting form, crosswords from my page-a-day calendar, the schedule of when I'm supposed to take pictures of campus, that kind of thing.

This morning, I decided it was time for a change. Important stuff only. Nothing that distracts from what's important.

Which leaves me with only two things on my now-excellent work bulletin board; this:

and this:

Day 17 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the ability to focus on what's important. Sometimes.
I am also thankful that I am still inhaling and exhaling, and that I am awesome.

Training

I wrote about my last year's trainer; it's probably time to introduce you to this year's.

On paper, they're similar: college seniors, long blonde ponytails, excited about helping folks get fitter. But their personalities are night and day.

Last year's trainer was tough, serious. She was very nice, and very good, but also very firm. When we talked, it was mostly about her future or her studies or her work. She had me deadlifting 125 pounds or something ridiculous. When I couldn't do something, or thought I couldn't, she scoffed at me, and insisted I could. I want her on my side in a zombie attack.

This year's trainer is bubbly, fun, maybe a little unnecessarily worried about going too hard on me — though she's learning. (Example: Last night, we were doing stirpots. She had planned to have me do 10, but then decided to let me do as many as I could — which was 30.) She knows everyone in the gym, and greets them all. She is very encouraging, pointing out every rep done with good form, praising every completed set. And when we talk, it's about everything — her classes and her roommates and their girlfriends and local bars. I want her to coach my (hypothetical future) children in gymnastics.

Either way, I love this cheap, healthy, fun interaction I get to have with our students.

Day 16 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for today's slight muscle soreness, and for how I got it, and for my own brute strength.

Drainplug

It's been a rough week for me in some ways:

• Sunday was taxing to the point of wanting to curl up and go to sleep at 6 p.m.
• Monday wasn't bad, but I was still recovering from Sunday, and spent four hours in a car for a three-and-a-half-hour meeting.
• Tuesday and Wednesday were just head-bangingly frustrating.
• Thursday has been full of meetings on a day I needed to spend working on a newsletter.

There's obviously more detail here thank I can give — friend stuff and work stuff and house stuff. But really, it's just this: I'm weary, spent, worn out. (And still need to write that newsletter.)

And throughout the week, what is keeping me aloft is a combination of time alone writing or curled up watching Murder, She Wrote (what?) and time spent with friends, venting or crying or running or drinking or bowling or laughing.

Day 15 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for alone and together, in balance.

Saving

Tonight (that's the tonight that I'm writing and posting this, not the tonight I should have written and posted, which was two days ago), a friend from high school was in trouble. In minutes, other high school friends had rallied around, determined where he was and helped him to get the help he needed.

I was not involved in this effort; by the time I was even aware of it, the ordeal was over. But I was amazed to watch it unfold after the fact. I know there are those who think social media is stupid or impersonal, that "friends" you only interact with through the internet are not friends at all. But my experience is that people care, deeply, about the people who have touched their lives, and that Facebook (and this blog, ahem) facilitates that caring.

Day 14 of my month of gratitude: Tonight, I am thankful for the "social" in social media — and for the safety of someone who might have been less safe.

Long

This past weekend, I:

• Caught up with an old friend
• Went bowling
• Got my hair dyed
• Got my nails done
• Went to two birthday parties
• Played with my niece and nephew
• Danced
• Mediated
• Got adjusted
• Bought presents
• Made two new friends and several more new acquaintances
• Ate a lot of delicious food in a lot of different settings
• Hardly thought about work at all

Day 13 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for three-day weekends.

Seeing

A few years ago, I was at lunch with my parents in D.C.

To get the full effect of this story, you need a little description of my mother. She is, as I think I've mentioned here, an Episcopal priest. She's a "better safe than sorry" type. She plans, carefully. She dresses modestly. Her personal style and mode of dress could best be described as "conservative." She's not a big makeup-wearer, aside from occasional very neutral lipstick "to look like she gives a damn," as my sister would say. Unless she is actually at the gym (or sometimes in the garden, but only sometimes), she wears skirts — to about mid-calf. She likes boiled-wool jackets. That's the kind of dresser my mother is.

Anyway, a few years ago, I was at lunch with my parents in D.C.

And mid-sentence, my mother just broke off, distracted. At the next table was a young family, with two little girls, probably about 2 and 4 years old. And my mother was staring, infatuated, at the older girl, who was wearing bright red, sparkly, glittery red shoes.

"Oh," whispered my boiled-wool-jacket-wearing mother, breathlessly. "Everyone should have shoes like that."

I have remembered it since, and periodically think about buying her a pair, though I don't think she'd wear them.

But a few days ago, I saw a pair of much subtler red shoes in my size for practically no money at one of my favorite stores. They're burgundy, really, and totally work-appropriate, but a far cry from the blacks and browns that make up the whole rest of my shoe wardrobe. And I will think of that lunch every time I wear them.

Day 12 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for wonder where you least expect it, and for red shoes.

Wish

Day 11 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the survival of every servicemember who lives to become a veteran, and pray for the safety of all those who will continue to come home this year.

Following

Some years ago, when I lived in Greater Washington, as we called it, and worked for a newspaper there, I had a great idea for a feature story: I would write about people who had other people's dream jobs, and tell our businessperson readers what it was like for them.

I thought of about a thousand dream jobs: Bookstore owner. Coffee shop owner. Pilot. Astronaut. Dancer. Firefighter. Professional athlete. Massage therapist. And I reached out to folks in several of those jobs, and wound up with an actor, a novelist, and a brewer.

The story was fun to write. All three of my interviewees really loved what they were doing. All three  were firmly in the follow-your-dreams category. All three are still following those same dreams, and apparently still enjoying it.

I found the actor in a roundabout way. A woman who'd interned at the newspaper had gone on to work at America's Most Wanted. I called her, and she put me in touch with a producer there, who connected me to a woman named Jacque Temple who had participated in a few reenactments, but had graduated to being one of their "operators" — the actors who pretend to answer the phones on-air while real operators handle calls in a call center off camera.

I met her twice, I think, when I was working on the story, and have met her once since then. I have closer friends, of course, whose impact on my life is more tangible, more clear, easier to explain, but Jacque is absolutely my hero. She is passionate and fun and supportive. She is stunningly beautiful, I think — it is hard to separate her outer beauty from the radiance that touches everyone she meets — but they're both there, to delightful effect. I invited her to join a group of friends for dinner in New York one night, and she immediately connected with one of my very best friends, and they maintain that connection still, two years later. She lives a life almost too brave for me to comprehend, much less live, in which she pursues vigorously what she feels called to do. She is unfathomably optimistic.

We recently had this exchange:

Jacque: I'll bet you didn't know meeting you was a turning point in my life, and your friendship has made all the difference on the world. xox
[bzzzzgrrrl]: Aw, Jacque, I don't know what to say. Everything happens for a reason — but here I thought all this time the reason was so I could soak up your inspiring words (and deeds!). xox back atcha.

I still don't know what she meant, exactly. But I know exactly what I meant.

Day 10 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the people who so clearly happen into our lives for a reason. And for people who follow their dreams with so much joy that it seems to even the less brave among us like something that can and should be done.

Through

I had this whole awesome sarcastic post written in my head that only about three of you would have gotten for the sarcastic sarcasm it would have been and the rest of you would have wondered what the hell I was talking about, and it would have been just brilliant, better than "A Modest Proposal," but somehow sarcastic rants that could also come back to bite me did not seem in keeping with the spirit of the month of gratitude.

I also had a very loving, very sincere post half-written in my head, totally in keeping with the spirit of the month of gratitude, but the only way that one would have made any sense would have been if I'd divulged information that is not mine to divulge.

It is one of those kinds of days.


Day 9 of my month of gratitude: Days like this, I am thankful just to get through. And I did.

Drunk

Today, I've drunk:

• Water
• Cider
• Throwback Pepsi 
• Herbal tea
• Water with effervescent cold medicine in it
• Cider with effervescent cold medicine in it (note: BAD idea)

I am probably not dying, but if I am, it is not of dehydration.

Day 8 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for fluid. So, so much precious fluid.

Pot

For the last few years, I've been doing "years of."

38 was the year of cute shoes.

39 was the year of time management.

And 40 is the year of having people over.

Now, the year of having people over started months ago, and mostly, so far, I've been adhering to the letter, but not the spirit, of the year. I've had individuals over, mostly — one friend here, another friend there. Since the goals of the year of having people over are to:

• enjoy my house for the excellent entertainment space it is,
• socialize more, and
• have reasons to keep the house clean,

having one friend — generally, one trusted friend who I don't mind seeing the mess my house is — over at a time doesn't do the trick.

This weekend, I had a pot luck. It was initially supposed to be an LGBTQ evening (I called it "family" dinner — cute, right?), but the folks who actually showed up proved to be much more L and Q and much less GBT. And we had a blast. Lots of laughs, lots of good food, some bridges built; it was just a gay old time (I've got a million of 'em).

It reminded me why I love Sunday night pot lucks so much. Maybe I'll have one every week, with different themes — sometimes camp people, sometimes queer people, sometimes the neighbors, sometimes work people, sometimes potpourri! I used to do pot lucks (always potpourri) in D.C. monthly, and I have missed that particular form of community-building.

Belated Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the range of personalities and flavors that come into my life, old and new — for peanut noodles and chicken hominy chili and brie and glorified rice and ice cream and chicken adobo and cider — and for smushed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and orzo salad and fried cicadas.

Dreamy

I've been home sick — you don't want the gory details, but I'm achy and sneezy and my nose runs like a faucet until I take medicine that dries me out to the point of pain and nosebleeds. I guess that is the gory details. Sorry.

This morning, I had a dream, and the details are fading fast, but my sister brought me to a church service that she said would be pretty much like my regular church, and it was not (lots of running around) and I was very confused.

Then I was taking a class through work at the college that had something to do with sex, but when I got the textbook (which a friend gave me at church), it seemed to be about Cerebral Palsy. I almost accidentally left it in the pew, and as I was going back to retrieve it, I thought of you — while still dreaming. I thought, "Here's a funny story for my month of gratitude — I'm thankful I didn't accidentally leave my sex textbook in a church that isn't even mine." I was sooooooo amused.

That was before my dream self had read the back of the book (while trying to find my car and crossing busy streets in Brattleboro, Vermont) and knew that it was about CP.

Belated, sicko Day 6 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful I didn't accidentally leave my sex textbook in a church that isn't even mine.

Heh.

I feel like this month of gratitude has been very serious. Like, each post by itself feels like me, and feels like something I would write, but as a collection so far, where's the laughter? Where are the wacky antics? Have no high jinks ensued?

There's plenty of that in my life right now, actually, but mostly, it doesn't come in story form — it's been moments that were hilarious if you were there, but that aren't translating so well to web posts — bowling in costume, that kind of thing.

Oh, but if you want funny? You know what was funny? The Halloween episode of The Office. It particularly showed off James Spader to excellent advantage, I thought. Here, treat yourself, if you haven't already:




Belated Day 5 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for every belly laugh and chuckle. And for finally understanding what the fuss is about with James Spader. Never really got that before.

Motto

This one by Langston Hughes has been rattling around in my brain a bunch lately, for a bunch of different reasons:

I play it cool
And dig all jive.
That's the reason
I stay alive.

My motto,
As I live and learn,
         is:
Dig And Be Dug
In Return

OK, and yes, one of those reasons was that one episode of Law and Order where Briscoe quotes it to his lieutenant. But there have also been some big heartfelt conversations with friends who've brought it starkly into focus.

There's been a lot of that in my life these days, recurrent themes that are everywhere. They feel like whispers of the divine, or my subconscious, or both, telling me to Pay Attention to this One Very Important Thing Right Now.

A belated Day 4 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for poetry, for reminders from the universe, and for their intersections. And boy howdy, am I thankful for the work of Langston Hughes.

Pushing

I just posted this to Facebook:

[bzzzzgrrrl] just got home to a big envelope, hand-addressed, no return address, with three Forever stamps, seven five-cent stamps, and one one-cent stamp — all uncancelled. It is so intriguing that instead of opening it I obviously want to make you guess what's in it first. You have half an hour before I open it and tell you what's inside. Go. 

And as I watched the responses roll in (a trip around the world! cookies and a t-shirt! a thermos ransom note! bison burgers!) it occurred to me how very much I do not live in 2002-era D.C. anymore. There was a time when that exact combination of things would have been enough to have me a) trembling with fear, and b) not opening my mail, no way, no how. In this time and place, not one person guessed, "anthrax."


Day 3 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for safety, for peace, for not always remembering when The Terrorists Were Winning.

Powerless

One of my college roommates shares a gmail account with her husband. I saw them online this afternoon, and asked if it was she. It was not. I wished her husband, also a college friend, a very happy birthday, and he suggested I call my old roommate, who'd been home for days with two kids but no power, heat, or running water — that's what happens when we get big snowstorms while the leaves are still on the trees. He was only online because he was at work.

Um, YIKES.

I did call, of course, and my friend, was remarkably chipper, considering. See, the town center, which had also been without power, had finally reopened, so, for example, they could buy gas to go somewhere else, even if their own power wouldn't come back for days and the kids would be out of school the rest of the week. Tomorrow, the Y will be open and they can take showers.

Obviously, I invited them to come stay with me, but my friend thought, since her husband had to work, it might be unkind to leave him alone in a cold, dark house on his birthday.

That, my friends, is the kind of sacrifice that leads to strong marriages. I'm told.

Day 2 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for water, and power, and heat. And Roku and the internet and all those other things so many other folks can't take for granted.

Care-full

I liked this exercise when I did it last year. And so, it seems, did some of you. I did not reread last year's, so there may be some repeats, but that's what you get.


Day 1 of my month of gratitude: In honor of finally finishing a class about giving care, I am thankful for caregivers: For those who provide safe and happy homes for children, for those who ensure that the rest of us are mostly unafraid, for the one friend and reader to whom I owe a lengthy e-mail, who has made saving lives his life's work. Thanks for people who give care to us all.

Really?

When people start calling Obama's suggestion that the rich be taxed, like, at all, "class warfare," I can't be the only one whose response is, "I wish."

Can I?

19 Secrets Women Wish Men Knew

I inadvertently stumbled across this today: 19 Secrets Women Wish Men Knew.

And damned if I know why I still click on garbage like that, but I do.

I think I keep hoping that someday, that list will look like this:

1. Women are not all the same, and they don't all want the same things from the men around them. People who claim to know what women as a giant group want are lying to you. That said, here are 18 more secrets women who think exactly like me wish some men (because men also are not all the same) knew:
2. Over our lifetimes, you will probably make more money than I will, even though I will probably need that money to last a longer time, and I do not blame you as an individual for that, but I do resent it a little.  
3. If you think my hormones occasionally make me irrational, you are probably correct, though I don't notice it. But know what? So do yours. Shut up.
4. My body isn't here for you, particularly if you are a total stranger or casual acquaintance. It wouldn't be if I were a straight woman, and it still isn't now. If you think it looks good, or bad, or whatever, you should probably mostly remember that it's not about you.
5. When a woman is uninterested in you romantically, and you take that opportunity to whine about how nice guys finish last, to her or to me, it makes me want to stab myself.
6. When you're sexist or homophobic or transphobic on Facebook, I consider unfriending you, even if I think you're hilarious all the rest of the time. Ditto racist, but I feel like the homophobia and transphobia are more male-specific in my broad circle of friends.
7. I am sorry that porn has so weirdly misrepresented lesbian sex to you, but you do know that's not real, right? It's not real.
8. (Regarding #8 from the link above:) Arbitrary gauges of when you "should" sleep with someone (whether it's the third date or after a couple of months) are just that: arbitrary. Sleep with people when you both (or all) want to, including but not limited to: immediately, never, after you're married, on the third date.
9. When other dudes make cracks about sexual assault or rape, and you don't call them on it, you are telling any rapists who are listening (whether the guy who made the crack or not) what your response will be when it comes right down to it.
10. I don't hate men. Seriously, ask the men I love how loving I can be. Cousin Mouse? Joe? Amiright? I just don't so much feel inclined to accept irritating behavior merely on the basis of your manly masculinity.
11. That condescending chuckle does not convince me that you are older or wiser than I am if you are not, in fact, older or wiser. And if you are older, wiser, or both, I probably knew it without the condescending chuckle, even though I am a woman.
12. When you distinguish between sports and women's sports ("basketball" and "women's basketball," "soccer" and "women's soccer"), I die a little. If you need to distinguish because it's important and not clear from context, that's what the word "men's" is for.
13. Being a gay dude doesn't mean you're not sexist.
14. OK, one tip for straight dudes on the make, but I'm damn well burying it in the middle: The small of the back. But only when you're far enough along that you know she'll be all right with you touching her there. This is not your opening move. The collarbone may yield similar results.
15. The toilet seat thing? Not as big a deal as basic respect. You can tell because if you leave the toilet seat up but treat me as an equal, you'll get a better response than if you leave the toilet seat down but don't.
16. Why are you sitting like that on the bus? Do you think I'll think your penis is bigger if you take up half my seat as well as your own by spreading your knees as far apart as you can? I don't think about how big your penis is at all; I just think about how I wish you weren't in my space.
17. If you are an American, you should be at least as familiar with the Nineteenth Amendment as you are with the Second Amendment. We're more than half the population.
18. Breastfeeding? Also not about you, unless you are the child in question, in which case, good for you for seeking out such excellent reading on the internet. You can be my new friend. Make sure your parents know you're commenting before you do, please.
19. Some women, including your mother/daughter/sister/girlfriend/wife/boss, will disagree with some or all of what I think. See #1. But a lot of ladies like when you ask their opinions about things that matter to them and then take the answers seriously. The best way to find out what women want is to ask them.

Health Care

Yesterday, I went to my doctor's office and the pharmacy. I learned these two things in so doing:

• My doctor does not have prescription coverage herself
• My pharmacy has big platters of free muffins and sweet rolls

What is wrong with the world?

Just Cause

Today, a friend asked me (as part of a group) to donate to a cause I am sometimes maybe a little snarky about. She knows I'm snarky, and so generally doesn't ask me to donate, which is kind of her, if better than I deserve. It's not that I don't believe in the cause. I do, very much. But said cause's marketing tactics sometimes annoy me.

Those of you who know me well know I am sometimes kind of a jackass when I'm annoyed.

But you know what? Who cares if I'm annoyed? People in the world need help sometimes, and nice people sometimes do what they can to give it to them. What the hell is wrong with me?

I donated, anonymously, but let the team leader, who is my friend, see my name and gift amount.

And then I sent this note:

I know you will be surprised to see my (tiny) donation, based on our past conversations.

But some days, I see someone like you trying to do something good for the world, and I think, “It’s time to lighten the f*ck up.”

Thank you for every one of those moments you give me, and thank you particularly for doing it today. You’re good people, Genny Alexander.

I don't know, that's what today's like.

What did you do? Who helps you lighten the f*ck up?

Where I was

I worked out that morning at the Gold's Gym in Rosslyn.

There's more to the story, and I wanted to write it, but that's as far as I get when I try to put it together.

The more to the story is such a weird confusion of all the chaos that surrounds that day — both before and after. There's Burning Man, a love triangle, a job interview in Boston September 10 and a stay in a fancy hotel with lovely plush robes, a friend's 30th birthday and another friend who'd come to live with me, my father's heart attack and a grandmother who needed help she wanted to pay for but didn't want to pay that much for, an ex-boyfriend who showed up for a concert, apple pancakes with a woman I'd fall in love with, another new relationship starting that would become second only to my own in importance in my life. None of those were about what happened that day, any more than my workout was, but it was a very swirly time for me.

When the first plane crashed, though, I was on my way up the hill from the gym to work. I think it was a good workout; Lord knows I needed one.

When I got up the hill, my boss, who was not as close a friend as she is now, but who has always had a comforting way about her, met me en route to my desk to ask if I'd heard. I hadn't, of course, and then there's a blur in my mind around that morning — other planes crashing, newsroom meetings to discuss how to simultaneously take care  of ourselves, jammed phone lines as people tried to find loved ones who were not OK and others tried to reassure loved ones they were OK.

When I finally got through to my parents, they weren't worried. They knew bad stuff was happening but didn't fear I was in danger. They were in New Hampshire, and it was as remote to them as the Oklahoma City bombing had felt to me. Sad, tragic, but not immediately relevant. The friend who was staying with me showed up at work to see if I wanted to go to lunch; he hadn't turned on the TV in my little apartment that morning, and so had no idea what was going on. I told him to go home and not drive around, so he drove around, looking at the Pentagon, which was so so close to my house and my work.

At Burning Man, we said we'd go back to the desert when the shit hit the fan. When it did, not two weeks later, we did not.
The woman who'd soon after be my partner in my longest relationship was stranded in Columbus that day where she'd been watching women's soccer with another friend of ours; she has her own story of renting a car to drive back. She knew someone in the Pentagon.
My comforting boss lost someone in the World Trade Center. We were closer just a little later than that.
I didn't get the job.
I quit my second job, because by then I didn't need it, and the racism there after the attacks was too much else to deal with.
The friend who was staying me found a job and a place to live within two weeks of his arrival in the area.
My dad was fine, and hasn't had another heart attack since. Modern medicine is amazing; his uncles died in their 50s from that same heart attack.
That other couple lasted a long time, but not forever. My relationship lasted a shorter long time, but not forever.
My grandmother died a few years later, nearly 101 years old.
Today is my friend's 40th birthday.

That day was not at all about me, but this blog is, and so what you get is my blurry snapshot, walking up the hill from the gym.

Over ten years, I have thought a lot about the people who died that day, in planes and buildings, attackers and victims and first responders, and the people who would die later.

But today, I find, my heart is with the people whose stories intersected with mine that day. I am thinking today of Beth and Todd and Cynthia and Allyson and Rachel, of my grandmother and my coworkers and my Burning Man buddies. Today, in New Hampshire where people were not scared then and are not scared today, I want connections. I want to build a planet-sized chart of intersecting stories, of the people whose stories touched mine and the people whose stories touched theirs so I can see how the events of one day — maybe any day — connect seven billion people in circles.

So, how are you doing?

Camping it up

I am feeling summer-campy today, and so I'm reposting something here that I originally wrote as a Facebook note a while back, slightly edited. I was reminded of its existence because an old camp friend posted (his slightly edited version of) the morning grace from the camp we share:

Give me clean hands, clean words, clean thoughts.
Help me to stand for the hard right against the easy wrong.
Save me from habits that harm.
Teach me to work as hard and to play as fair, in my sight alone, as if the whole world saw.
Forgive me when I am unkind, and help me to forgive those who are unkind to me.
Send me chances to do a little good each day, so I may grow and know more.

Nice, right?

Anyway, that old note on camp:

The ACA has a "Because of Camp" page with the following instructions:

"List the Top 10 things you loved and/or learned at camp on the Because of Camp…™ Wall, and/or in the “notes” section of your profile and then share those memories by tagging your friends."

I've been to a lot of camps (more than 10), and learned and loved a lot of people and things (more than 10,000, not that I've counted). But I've narrowed down to ten camps, if not ten things.

1. Because of Pony Farm, I learned to ride. I also met Gene Robinson and his then-wife, Boo, who have had a bigger influence on me than I suspect either of them knows.
   
   
2. Because of Aloha Hive, I started deliberately not wearing big logos on my clothes. I first heard the beautiful thwack of an arrow hitting a target, I hollered in an echoey tunnel, I learned to paddle a canoe, I made baskets while sitting at the end of the dock with my toes holding reeds in the water.
   
   
3. Because of that one computer camp I don't remember the name of, I know that I had — and have — a capacity for smarts that weren't just about reading and writing.
   
   
4. Because of The Philadelphia School's summer program, I found a book that changed my life and remains one that I wrestle with, tried falafel for the first time, and was inspired to learn Latin.
   
   
5. Because of Middlesex School Summer Arts, I learned to get along with the "cool kids" by acting as though I felt as confident as I wanted to be. I also learned my first sun salutation.
   
   
6. Because of Chapel Hill-Chauncy Hall Summer Theater School, I know I can sing, loud, if I'll just relax into it. I also know the techies are the ones really having all the fun.
   
   
7. Because of Jacob and Rose Grossman Day Camp, I learned not to try to pass, even when I could. And that Hydrox are kosher, unlike Oreos.
   
   
8. Because of Camp Takodah, I have some of the best friends I've ever had. I'm more comfortable taking risks, more comfortable taking charge. I also learned the phrase "take the hard right against the easy wrong," which I still say at least weekly.
   
   
9. Because of Hornet's Nest, I'm confident in my ability to hire and manage and sing the sardines song.
   
   
10. Because of Week in the Park, I know that you can run a summer program for kids in the horriblest heat, even without a swimming facility — as long as there's an ice rink.

Half full of what?

Remember Rick Warren?

Yeah, me, too. Still bitter, in fact.

Oh, and so is he.

What I want

Discovery of the day: Sometimes, "It's my birthday; I can do what I want," means, "I'm going to regurgitate this cucumber back into my gin and tonic."

Not when I say it. When I say it, it usually means, "Sure, I'll have dessert," or maybe, "I'll buy these shoes."

Maybe the third side is an ice cream truck

This morning, I passed a City of Keene van that said "Animal Control" on the left side.

Naturally, I wondered what the animal-based emergency was.

Then I observed that the back of the same van said "Traffic Light Repair."

Is it just me, or do those seem like they'd require very different skills? And equipment, for that matter.

Neither rain, nor sleet, nor gloom of night...

In 2004, I went on a fantastic trip to Scotland with my family.

As was my custom in those days, I sent post cards back. To all of my coworkers. No, let me clarify. To each of my coworkers.

Today, I had this Facebook exchange:

[Former coworker]: were you in scotland recently?
[bzzzzgrrrl]: Um, no, as I believe I told you, Lewes, DE. Why?
[bzzzzgrrrl]: Were YOU in Scotland recently?
[Former coworker]: [Other former coworker] just got your postcard.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 31

The total secret-to-lie ratio is 15:16. That includes this post.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 30

Salmon is to taste as cowbell is to sound.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 29

I have a fear of dogs, but only when they are in water.

:Shudder.:

Creepy.

Sans Chevy Chase

I am on vacation. Here is how you can tell:

• My toenails are painted mint green.
• I am sore from exercise and yet intend to do a bunch more. I do not know why I am so much more inclined to exercise on vacation, I only know that I am.
• I don't know whether I have a meeting on Monday. That's right, I have actually left work behind.
  
• I actually read the two books of the graphic novel I've been carrying around since January-ish.
  
• I had a cheeseburger for breakfast yesterday morning.
• I'm sitting in a café with my first cousins once removed, one of whom lives in Minnesota and the other of whom lives in California, discussing the mystery of how a foot gets apparently beet-stained in Berlin.
  
• I saw this sunrise:
  
  and this sunset:
  
  
• I owe you four blog posts (three secrets and lies, one "where I'm from" that most of you don't even know is coming). Ha! Just kidding! It's not vacation that is keeping me from posting, it's me that is keeping me from posting. As always!
  

I am on vacation for real, though.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 28

I wrote this after skipping Day 28 and writing days 29 and 30, then predated it so it would show up earlier.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 27

I am not yet ready to declare, as one impressive friend (and reader) has, that I have "for certain, and with no regrets, broken up with Diet Coke." But I haven't had one in two days, and don't plan on having one today.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 26

The last adult penis I saw was Daniel Radcliffe's.

Also, I originally wrote, "The last adult penis I saw was Harry Potter's," which was funnier, but Harry Potter's a kid, so it didn't make sense. And was creepy.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 25

When I want to feel like a rich lady on vacation, I go get a lobster sandwich at D'Angelo.

I want to feel like a rich lady on vacation more than you would think.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 24

I spent literally 45 minutes today trying to learn enough Photoshop to graft dragon wings onto an owl. I still do not know that much Photoshop, but decided that the image I found of an owl with angel wings and a halo was sufficient for the point I was trying to make to my coworker.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 23

Fireworks as we know them were invented by Benjamin Franklin in France, for the express purpose of irritating his neighbors and scaring their horses.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 22

Living in New Hampshire, I have had opportunity to hear dozens of presidential hopefuls, and I've attended two presidential inaugurations. The two actual presidents I've actually met were Ford and Clinton.

I'm sure there's a joke there, but I'm not the one who has it.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 21

Last night, I pulled this carrot:




...out of this bag of "Baby-Cut Carrots":

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 20

In Rhode Island, it is illegal to feed beer to a parrot unless you are consuming a comparable amount of beer yourself.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 19

On more than one occasion, I have had groups of people with a lot of cash successfully beg me to be the bank/house/dealer so they could play blackjack. This one comes with a moral: Don't do that. The house always wins, and this particular house will feel bad that she just took all your tip money within hours of you getting it. So bad she'll buy you breakfast at McDonald's and still go home with most of your money.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 18

My original middle name was "8." I used to use it, but then I was worried people would think I was copying Jennifer 8. Lee, which I totally was not.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 17

I once semi-accidentally convinced a former Mormon that it is common practice in the Congregational (UCC) church for a person to dress in a comma suit and do a special comma dance down the aisle.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 16

8 percent of women aged 35 to 45 cite Leif Garrett as their first celebrity crush.

.002 percent of women in the same age bracket cite Leif Ericson, which is just peculiar.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 15 (also a little late)

The last thing I plagiarized was a fifth grade paper on birds and flight. I'd procrastinated writing it and had to do it early the morning it was due. I didn't copy word-for-word out of the encyclopedia, but I did copy some concepts I didn't completely understand, without taking the time to actually understand them. I was caught when my parents, who asked to read the paper, were pretty sure I didn't know what "sinews" were.

Among the things I regret about that episode are that I made my parents explain the pitfalls of intellectual dishonesty while groggy and in bed and still drinking their first cup of coffee.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 14 (a little late)

The active ingredients in duct tape and Avon's Skin So Soft are the same.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 13

I listen to right-wing talk radio a lot, and by "a lot," I mean for several minutes nearly every day.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 12

I read five advice columns regularly. I really like one of them.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 11

Former child actor Quinn Cummings of The Goodbye Girl was actually twin very small adult women.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 10

I am at the point in my seriousness in bowling where I am employing sports psychology tactics to improve my game. I cannot decide how many of the following things this is indicative of (or how I feel about them):

• I am very driven and goal-oriented
• I used to date a sports management graduate student
• I am very competitive and bowl against better bowlers than myself
• I take bowling much too seriously
• I'll try anything once
• I've been spending a lot of time around new-agey health care practitioners

Unfortunately, though said tactics often work for a frame or two, I am still pretty much an average bowler.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 9

Given a choice between a glow stick, a lit lightbulb, and a small flame, most insects will choose the one closest to your ear.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 8

I used to dream in Bible stories. Old Testament, mostly.

See?

See how much better I am about posting when I have a theme, even posts that are not tied to the theme?

Yesterday, two people shared two stories with me about the town in which I now live.

There's this.

And also this.

You know, just another day in New Hampshire.

But I bowled a 161 last night.

(Seriously, that first story is very sad. But anyone who wants to engage me in discussion on the Free Staters? That may be what the comments here are for.)

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 7

Someone's pregnant!

And it's not my sister anymore.

It's not me, either.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 6

If you click on every link in my blogrolls, take the first word of the most recent post (to this posting), and rearrange those words, you'll get a secret message from me!

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 5

At the advice of webcomic xkcd's hovertext, I have tried to:

• go to any entry in Wikipedia,
• click on the first link that is neither italicized nor in parentheses in the main entry
• repeat

...and doing so, one does, in fact, get to "philosophy" eventually, most of the time.

The opposite

This is neither a secret nor a lie, but it felt like it needed saying: I am not a straight man posing as a queer woman for the sake of my blog.

Unlike some people.

Yes, people, plural.

31 Days of Secrets and Lies: Day 4

I had not heard of "The Book of Mormon" as a show until after it won a Tony, and so, when a Facebook friend posted "A Mormon just believes!" as her status while watching the Tony Awards, I Googled the phrase and found that it was from "The Book of Mormon." Which I naturally took to be the actual book, and took my friend to be a Mormon, and took the whole thing to be a little strange. I still do not know whether she is a Mormon.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 3

If you put chocolate and a marshmallow between two iPhones and engage the phones in an ongoing call for half an hour, you can create a very poorly conceived s'more.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 2

Tan M&Ms were pulled in 1995 when consumer groups expressed concern that the dye used contained excessive amounts of caffeine.

31 Days of Secrets & Lies: Day 1

The guy I stole this premise from was generally the person I was most interested in impressing intellectually for at least the first year of college, and occasionally still is.

Well, hey

So much for that experiment.

We'll try again with something new, starting smaller and more hilarious. Next post.

Sorry about the obscenely long break, again. It's been a nutso few months, chockablock full of stuff that I will and will not feel comfortable posting about. The job's crazy, I'm seeing a new chiropractor (professionally, not socially), I bowl a lot, I have a new nephew, I had a minor car accident. I don't know. Stuff. Life. You know, like we all have, and some of you still manage to blog around.

So, how've you been?

Finding comfort

It has occurred to me that I am not as regular a blogger as I like to be, even when I have a theme (like the week of extracting joy or the month of gratitude).

But I do better with a theme.

And so, inspired by Genny's 30 day remixes and jake, eh's whole blog, I have decided to do a "month of" something.

Jake, eh has just used it to unpack, because she moved. What a great idea, right? A box a day? I will say this about that:

• I moved three years ago
• I suspect I still have 30 boxes not yet unpacked
• I still have not found my favorite comforter.

So, here's the plan:

• Today, tomorrow, and Saturday, I will clean up a little to enable unpacking boxes as an actual possibility. If anything hilarious happens, I will let you all know.
• Starting Sunday, I will unpack a box a day for 27 days, in the interest of finding that damn comforter, and I will share with you one entertaining story or item from each day's escapades.
• When the comforter is found, someone will get a prize of some kind.
  
• If at any point I run out of boxes or appear about to run out of boxes, there will be bonus posts to make up for them.

April

Oh, for crying out loud.

Replaying

After some reflection, a few things occur to me about Thursday night:

Thing 1: Several people have described what I did as "cooking for" the possum, as if I'd made it a fancy dinner. In the moment, I was just making frozen chicken unfrozen. If I remembered that I had tuna, I'd have just opened a can of it. But, you know, panic.

Thing 2: My cousin rightly pointed out that I was lucky it didn't ransack my house. True. But also, you wouldn't really know it, because my possum-herding methods kind of did ransack the house. There's a broom on the floor, the furniture's all moved around, there are piles of couch cushions blocking the doorways, the recycling's in a heap on the kitchen floor from when I briefly decided to try to trap the possum in the recycling bin.

Thing 3: Several folks have been amused by my great possum-wrangling adventures. A few have said they would not have handled it as well as I did (they are kind, but lying; I know that any of them could have been at least as composed as I was). Only one has openly said that she would have been more composed than I. That, my friends, is what is commonly known as hubris. I will let you know when she has a creature trapped in her house, and how she does with it.

Thing 4 (possibly related): When I lived in the D.C. area, one night, my N.H.-dwelling parents were in the big city for a visit. And in front of an apartment building in Northwest D.C., my father and I saw a creature of some kind in the shadows. It was big, and four-legged, and scary. And I let out a little shriek. My dad was curious, but unbothered. At the time, I observed aloud that to country folk, a thing like that is "nature," where to city folk, it's more like "vermin." And today, as we were discussing it, my dad observed aloud, "I was wondering what it was. You were wondering what it was doing there." (For those of you also wondering what it was, my father's best guess is "large possum." My best guess is "wolverine.")

Thing 5: When I found the possum in my house, I screamed. Several times. Because I live in a free-standing house and don't have to keep it down. Except that as we discovered, the door to my house was wide open. I screamed and screamed with the door wide open, and no one called the police. Good to know.

Playing

I do not know how to tell this any better than in Facebook status and comments. I am changing names, but preserving my own (and everyone's) horrible panicked typing and confusing crosstalk. This thread starts after 11:30 p.m. my time, and at the same time for all but two of the participants, who are two or three hours behind.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: is suddenly VERY ALERT because there is a possum in my house somehow and I have no phone to call one of you and wake you up so you'll tell me what to do. WHAT THE HELL DO I DO?

[Friend 1]: hahah are you serious?? its in your house??!!

[bzzzzgrrrl]: It is in my house.

[Friend 1]: OMG.... hmmmmmm.. any of your neighbors awake??!!

[Friend 2, who is on a bowling team that will be in a league with mine]: Play possum.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: honestly, i am too freaked out to leave this room to find out.

[Friend 1]: hahaha [Friend 2] I dont think that was the answer she was looking for! ;)

[bzzzzgrrrl]: thank you [Friend 1] for your support. [Friend 2], i'll deal with you at the bowling alley.

[Friend 1]: You need to leave the room, go to a neighbors and call the towns animal control

[Friend 1]: at the suggestion of a friend whom I was IM with

[Friend 1]: or maybe the police?

[Friend 3]: we had one in the house and i opened the front door and scared him out with a broom.

[Friend 3]: picking him up didn't go well...

[bzzzzgrrrl]: ok, folks, update:
the door from the house to the garage is wide open. we presumably now know how it got in. i can't currently hear it, and so am hopeful it let itself out the same way after i shrieked at it. Off to inspect the house to double-check.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: AAh! [Friend 3], there will be NO attempts to pick this one up.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: Possum has not left the house, but is now confined-ish to open spaces. I have shut all the doors to rooms that have doors that shut while the possum chills out in the kitchen. Blocking the door that contains the broom. Will try to convince it to leave out the garage door without a broom.

[Friend 4]: IN?!!! Ugh!!

[bzzzzgrrrl]: and now it has hunkered down in what seems like the safest corner in the house, i'm sure, as there is no way for me to get anywhere near it. not really excited about leaving an outside door open all night; also not really excited about shutting a possum into my house. neighbors are, in fact, asleep.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: Awesome and helpful information from the internet: Opossums breed between January and July. If you trap opossums during these months, chances are high that babies may still be in the area. Opossums have as many as 25 babies, which are carried in the mother's pouch when first born.

[Friend 5]: possums scare me !!!!! they seem prehistoric and unpredictable

[Cousin Mouse]: oh, dear

[Cousin Mouse]: I imagine the problem with possoms is that trying to push or frighten them away only makes them stay where they are.

[Cousin Mouse]: entice with food?

[bzzzzgrrrl]: that is exactly the problem, [Cousin Mouse]. but i had the same thought. have thrown a piece of frozen chicken on the foreman (would have just thawed in the microwave, but that would mean further cornering the possum), and will put it out in the garage when it's a little less frozen.

[Cousin Mouse]: got a large box? put chicken in box, box in kitchen, trip possom, carry out.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: more (actually) helpful (rather than freaky) from the internet: According to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, the best way to deal with an opossum that wanders into your home is to "...stay calm, close surrounding interior doors, leave the room, and let the animal find its own way out through the pet door or an open door or window." Opossums are usually not a threat to you or your pets, as they prefer to avoid conflict. They are extremely resistant to rabies, despite common fears.

[Cousin Mouse]: trap possom, ,not trip

[bzzzzgrrrl]: sadly, the boxes are where the broom is: in the basement. the possum has decided the corner in front of the basement door is home base.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: but your plan is DEFINITELY better than mine

[Cousin Mouse]: Isn't there a door to the outside right there?

[Cousin 2]: Sending positive thoughts your way, and get-out-of-Lucy's-house thoughts in the direction of the possum! At least he/she isn't freaking out and trashing the place.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: yes, but there's still a foot of snow in front of it, and it opens out.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: yes, [Cousin 2], and for that i am VERY grateful.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: ‎(just had a vision of me trying to trip a possum. hee.)

[Cousin Mouse]: so, which door can you open? The other door onto the deck?

[bzzzzgrrrl]: nope. no doors onto the deck. the door into the garage is open, with a plate of semi-cooked chicken in front of it, and the door from the garage to the outside is also open.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: methinks i hear a possum on the move.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: there's scampering.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: but no leaving, so far.

[Cousin Mouse]: can you see it, or just hear it?

[Friend 6]: Get the camera! I hear America's Funniest Home Videos calling!!

[bzzzzgrrrl]: i have seen it, just heard it for a bit, have now re-spotted it. it has found a new corner it likes better than partially-cooked chicken, in the living room, which means i at least now have access to boxes and a broom

[Cousin Mouse]: ah, ok. And speaking of videos: tp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6LdouiW9JI

[Friend 7]: A watched pot never boils.

[Cousin Mouse]: note how the possom goes in entirely the different direction than the humans atttempt to move it.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: Yeah, [Friend 7], I should probably just go to bed and forget it :)

[bzzzzgrrrl]: Crap. Lost it.

[Cousin Mouse]: Lost it?

[Cousin Mouse]: I gotta do something, I'll check back in a few.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: Refound it; new corner. And thanks to some brilliant thinking by [Friend 6], I have constructed couch-cushion barriers, pretty much trapping it in the living room/entry way area, so it can stay where it is or go into the garage for delicious chicken, but can't get into the rest of the house.

[Friend 6]: [Cousin Mouse], just watched your video. Great!!

[Cousin Mouse]: [bzzzzgrrrl] - well, sounds like it is contained at least. Good luck with this - I'll check back in the morning.

[bzzzzgrrrl]: I did not actually see the possum leave, but did find a possum eating the chicken in the garage, and shut the garage door. We are going to assume that it was the same possum, rather than a friend. GAH. Thanks, all, for your kind support and suggestions.

[Friend 6]: Good! Will talk to you soon. Are you sleeping with your bedroom door closed tonight? :)

[bzzzzgrrrl]: Sleeping? Right.

My sister needs help with the groceries

Today, Whimsy has the best idea for a post/comment prompt ever.

You should go read it, and comment. As a special treat, if you do, you will see a bonus story from me in the comments. You may see several. I may go back and post dozens more stories; I like it that much.

Inspiring

I realize I'm (again) in danger of turning this into a blog about TV and weather, but really, we've had a zillion inches of snow up here. There's nothing else to talk about.

Now Netflix thinks I might want to watch "Inspiring Movies." I can only assume this is because I watched The Aggressives on demand twice in two days. (Side note: If you've seen The Aggressives and want to discuss it, let me know. I very much want to discuss it.)

It has a list of 50, in fact, to recommend to me. Here are the top 16:

• Stuart Little 3: Call of the Wild
• Tyler Perry's I Can Do Bad All by Myself
• 3 Ninjas: Kick Back
• Knucklehead
• Pay It Forward
• Free Willy 4: Escape from Pirate's Cove
• Racing Stripes
• The Pianist
• More Than a Game
• Saints and Soldiers
• Here on Earth
• Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price
• Bring It On Again
• Forever Strong
• La Bamba
• Over the Top

Um, what?

Brrrr...

This is for friend and frequent commenter Joe, who said "I want the occasional fall/early winter weather report from New England. ... Describe your surroundings as part of your posts, whether it's the joy you get from the changing hues of the leaves, or the pissah that it is to shovel snow before Thanksgiving."

Now, he said that back in early November, but we are still just a month into winter, so here's your thousand words:




Yes, folks, that's 24 degrees below zero.

Kate Gosselin = Murphy Brown + Maude + Liz Lemon, all in one!

People from warmer places may not know that it can get too cold to snow. But it does. And we've been in a cycle up here: snowing a lot, really cold, snowing a lot, really cold... you get the pattern.

The result is obviously me watching a lot of crappy TV via Netflix.

Netflix's weirdness in recommendations is well-documented, but lately, it's decided I would like "Reality TV Featuring a Strong Female Lead."

How do you suppose Netflix defines that?

In order (with my descriptions and comment in italics):

• "Say Yes to the Dress" (Season 5) A show about young brides to be blowing all the money in the universe on a dress they will wear once, often arguing with their mothers, sisters, and best friends about it. The image on the cover is of a man holding a dress. Go sisterhood!
• "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" (Season 3) I have neither seen this show nor heard a lot of chatter about it, so maybe I shouldn't judge, but it's about Paris Hilton's ex-friend (or makeup artist?) and her sisters, right? Who are pretty and also Bruce Jenner's stepdaughters? Or something?
  
• "Laguna Beach" (Season 1) Rich seemingly fake high school kids are mean to each other, except it's sort of reality, somehow.
  
• "The Hills" (Season 1) The same rich seemingly fake kids get jobs, ish, and continue to be mean.
  
• "Meerkat Manor" (Season 1) My understanding is that this show is literally about meerkats. I guess this is why they say "strong female lead" and not "strong woman lead."
• "Jon & Kate Plus Ei8ht" (Seasons 1 and 2) Unlike many people, I do not judge Jon & Kate for having a lot of children. I do judge them for being unpleasant, and I judge TLC for using an 8 in place of a g.
• "Curl Girls" Lesbian surfers. This is literally the only show on this list I might watch. Oh, who are we kidding? I absolutely will watch this.
• "Transamerican Love Story" Every elimination dating reality show, with a twist! Phenomenal transwoman Calpurnia Adams is the bachelorette! I will not watch this just because I want to keep loving Calpurnia. Also, spellcheck does not recognize "transwoman," "Calpurnia," or "bachelorette."
• "First Comes Love" Every plan-a-wedding-fast reality show, with a twist! The couples are the same sex as each other! Which means, presumably, not every episode even has a woman in it.

What are you watching to stay warm?

Things I have learned from watching arguably too much Super Nanny

1. Super Nanny's advice is approximately the same for every family. It's good advice, but I do not know who submits tapes to be on that show, since you could just do what you know Super Nanny would tell you to do, without being on TV as a bad parent.
2. Super Nanny is clearly not a mandated reporter, because there are many families on this show who are just struggling, but there are more than you'd think where there's clear abuse or neglect going on. On television.
3. Many of the children featured on this show have really stupid names. I will not give you examples, because your kids may also have these same stupid names, and I don't want to offend you, but you should watch a couple of episodes, because even if the kids in one episode have the same stupid names you gave your own kids, the kids in the other one will have different ones, and you'll see what I mean. I am unclear whether there is a correlation between being a bad parent and giving your kids stupid names, or a correlation between wanting to be on reality TV and giving your kids stupid names, or both.
4. Gay parents do not go on Super Nanny. I am unclear whether there is an inverse correlation between being a bad parent and being a gay parent, or an inverse correlation between wanting to be on reality TV and being a gay parent, or both.
5. Nonetheless, this show is like Pringles to me.
6. HuluPlus, though awful and obnoxious, is still dangerous.
   

Counting cards

Know what this is?




That, my friends, is my awesome 2011. Can't. Wait. (And don't have to!)

[I was going to end it there, but I can't stand to. What are your plans for 2011? What three things are going to happen for you this year?]

Take a cup o' kindness yet

I am a medium-superstitious person, and that kicks into high gear this time of year. Luckily, I tend to use my superstitions for good, not ill; I'm fine with black cats and such, but I'll wear the occasional lucky garment when it seems warranted.
So, this new year I am:

• eating long noodles
• eating black-eyed peas
• eating greens
• washing my hands in the new soap I got for Christmas, made to bring abundance to my life
• making sure my cupboards are stocked
• greeting a tall, dark-haired man as the first person to enter the household

What am I missing? What do you do for good luck in the new year?

Let it slow

There's a lull between two snowstorms up here right now. It is a perfect day to snuggle under blankets, to sit beside a fire, to drink from the oversized mugs bzh gave me when I moved here three years ago, to put both giant Crock Pots to work and freeze the leftovers.

Round One of Crock Pottery will be recipes from friends who responded to the call on Facebook.

Round Two will be from you. So, share. What are your favorite slow-cooker recipes?

A Prayer

A Prayer for Owen Meany is one of my favorite books, ever. John Irving is not one of my favorite authors overall; I find him pretty hit-or-miss. But even his worst books (158-Pound Marriage, I'm looking at you) often strike a chord with me; they often take place in New Hampshire, in and around worlds I know well.

I bought Cider House Rules when I was home here for my grandfather's funeral, late one year in the early 1990s, and read it as my main escape that weekend. And when I got back to school, I missed it, and bought Owen Meany, which was even better. It's a sentimental thing for me, but it's also just a beautifully crafted book, which I very much recommend.

I loaned my copy out to a good friend who was having a hard time a few years ago, and was pleased that she liked it enough to read it — that it resonated with her, too. I don't see her a lot any more, but the last time I saw her, this fall, she asked if I wanted it back, and I was surprised to find that I didn't. That is, I love the book, and want to have a copy, but I wanted her to have that copy. I loved that it was doing someone else some good.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago, when an on-campus group was having a book sale for a good cause, and the first book my eye lit on was a copy of Owen Meany, tattered in almost exactly the way mine was. I handed over my fifty cents and was happy to have it, but didn't look inside.

Until this week, that is. I was in a nostalgic mood, and there are a couple of eerie, sweet, Christmasy chapters that bring me back to late one year in the early 1990s, so I skimmed them.

And then I flipped to the end — no reason not to, because I know how it ends.

And this is what I found there:


I don't know what "better" means in this context, so I can't agree with it, quite. But it made me smile.

How that party went

First things first: I went with black pants, a shiny green shirt, and heels I could take off when I got there with bare feet (since I got a pedicure on Saturday)

I left my town at about 5:45 and arrived around 6:15, planning to only stay an hour, and carpooled with a friend who wanted to get home in time to tuck her kids in. Perfect, right?

My hostess's husband was there, rearranging and moving cars, and offered to move mine.

Since I hadn't taken my coat off yet, I offered to do it myself.

He said he'd do it, that I should go in and enjoy the party. And you know, my car's really old. It's not like it'd be a huge big deal if he scratched it or something.

So I gave him my keys and headed in to talk to the five people I knew (because really, I seem outgoing, but my M.O. at parties is pretty much to corner people I know or people who look like they know even fewer people than I do and talk with them, one-on-one, until they wander off).

By about 6:45, I had talked with everyone I know, but it was obviously still too soon to leave. My hostess came over to say hello, and we talked for a bit about how beautiful her house is and what she'll do with the room we're standing in. And then she says, "[bzzzzgrrrl], I have a huge dilemma."

People who understand my neuroses better than I can figure out why my first thought was that I was about to be fired from a direct-sales job at a holiday party, but anyway, I just said, "O.K."

And then she was full of apologies, and handed me the pieces of my keys. Bear in mind, my car is old, and my hostess's husband is approximately the same age as said car. He has probably never had to open a car door with a key in his short life. He certainly has probably never seen a car where the ignition key and the door lock key are different. And so he put the ignition key into the door lock and gave it a good twist in the bitter, metal-freezing cold, and snapped it.

Also bear in mind, this party was about half an hour away from my house, and I didn't (and don't) know where my spare key is anyway. Shuttling around to get it is not an option.

Luckily, I have AAA. AAA Plus, in fact, which is totally worth it (and would be a fine last-minute Christmas gift for practically anyone, except someone who already has it). So I called AAA and tried to enjoy the rest of the party, which was lovely (though I was a little worried about my carpool buddy who now can't leave and won't get home to tuck the kids in).

What time would you guess AAA got there?

I mean, you know I'm in the middle of nowhere, so would you guess 45 minutes after I called?

An hour?

Maybe you'd guess, correctly, that they'd call back after an hour and a half to see how everything was going, and then would be surprised to learn the tow truck hadn't gotten there yet, and then would call back to say it'd be another twenty minutes. Yup.

This party, mind you, was supposed to end at 8:30. Luckily, I am not the only one who doesn't know how to leave a party, and so I was not quite the last guest in the house when the truck finally got there at 9, two hours after I initially called for it, in pretty, swirly, only-slightly-scary snow. My carpool buddy had managed to hitch a ride with someone else about five minutes before that, well after her kids' 8:00 bedtime.

You will be glad to know the couple who drove the tow truck were very nice and really interesting, and I now know a lot about their kids and also what it's like to tow drunk drivers.

I think I might send them a note.

They towed me home, and gave me a ride.

And then the fun began.

Because it took several hours the next morning to figure out how to get a replacement key for a 20-year-old car, without the use of said car.

I called the GM dealership (because there are no Oldsmobile dealerships anymore, because they don't make Oldsmobiles anymore) and asked if they could make me a replacement key.

The guy on the phone explained that GM says it doesn't do keys older than 14 years old, but sometimes he gets lucky, but before he can even search on it, he'd need my license and registration.

When I suggested that I might not want to walk three miles round-trip in the incredibly freezing cold on the off chance he could make a copy of my key, he said I could fax that info to him.

I told him I didn't have a fax machine at home. I did not say, "A fax? Are you kidding? What is this, 1992?" I asked if I could scan and e-mail that info to him instead.

He thought that would be a fine idea, and gave me his e-mail address, which was in the format [creative spelling of diminutive of masculine first name][two-digit number]@yahoo.com. I did not say, "Yahoo? What is this, 1995? You don't have a work account?"

I did (probably unwisely) e-mail those scans and wait a bit, and then called back. I got a different guy on the phone, and had this conversation.

Me: Hi, I called earlier to see if you could make a key for my 20-year-old car, and I just wanted to make sure you all had gotten my e-mail with my license and registration.
Him: We can't make a key that old.
Me: I know, I already talked to someone, he said that sometimes you can make keys older than 14 years. I just wanted to see if he'd gotten my e-mail.
Him: We can't make keys that old.
Me: I already talked to someone who said he'd see if he could.
Him: We can only go back to 1990.
Me: Excellent. My car is a 1990. [But note to self: Get one million copies of this key.]
Him: Oh, yeah, then, we can do that. We'll need your license and registration.
Me: I know. I e-mailed them to the guy I talked to before.
Him: Oh! Yeah, I'll ask [diminutive of masculine first name] if he got that. What's your phone number?

A few minutes later, the phone rang, and it was the second guy I'd talked to.

Him: I don't see that fax.
Me: I didn't send a fax. I e-mailed it.
Him: Oh! OK, I'll see if [diminutive of masculine first name] got that.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again, and it was the first guy I'd talked to.

Him: Yeah, we'll be able to make that key, no problem. But you should know, with a car that old, there's only a 50-50 chance it'll work.
Me: What?
Him: Yeah, if it's ever been broken into, or if they've ever had to replace the ignition tumbler, the key we're making won't work in it.
Me: Oh, good. I'm only the second owner, and the first owner was my grandmother, and I'm almost certain the ignition has never been replaced.

My kindhearted neighbor gave me a lift to pick it up. And it worked.

So, how's your week going?

Worn out

I have an amusing post for you soon, maybe even later today, but for now, I need fashion advice.

I'm going to a party tonight.

What should I wear?

Possibly mitigating factors:

• The party is 6-8:30 p.m.
• My hostess is 21 years old, married, and has a new house, with new hardwood floors.
• We've been told to feel free to bring our fave slippers or socks, because her house is a "slipper/sock only zone."
• The dress code has been expressed as "wear anything you like... BUT I would love for it to be a fun cocktail party attire (and even cooler to wear cocktail attire with slippers!!!"
• She is expecting 50 people in a house that is big enough to hold us, but it'll be cozy (and therefore warm).
• The weather forecast this evening is for temps in the low to mid twenties, with possible flurries.
• I do not own (or wear) slippers or cute socks, but I am willing to buy some if you think it's necessary.
• I am willing to be barefoot, and have recently had a pedicure.

I am out of my depth on this one. If you are suggesting a dress, please address how you would deal with the hosiery/footwear issue.

Fun new game: Cute or Creepy?

We'll see if this catches on before I commit to it as a regular thing, but I'm interested in your feedback. I'll tell you about a thing, and you'll tell me whether it's cute or creepy. (Or other, obviously.) Once I get a few responses, I'll chime in in the comments.

I have a Facebook friend who is pregnant and understandably very excited.

She's found a FB app that will keep us all updated on how the fetus is doing.

Like:

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby is about 14 inches long and weighs 2 pounds.

and

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby's skeleton is hardening and requires about 200 milligrams of calcium every day.

and

[Friend] is 28 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby's skull bones are growing rapidly to accommodate its growing brain.

and

[Friend] is 27 weeks along in her pregnancy
[Friend]'s baby will suck on anything that can reach his or her mouth: hands, umbilical cord, toes or knees. Sucking provides vital neural connections in baby's brain.

So...
What do you think?

Spirit Guide

I know this guy, and he's considering becoming a priest.

Part of the process, in the Episcopal Church, is the assembly of a "discernment committee," which meets regularly to support and talk to him, to figure out why (and if) this is really what he wants to do.

I am on that committee.

And as part of that process, we've agreed to spend part of our second meeting (on Wednesday) sharing our "spiritual autobiographies."

Which brings to mind a few questions:

• Would it be, like, really bad if I paid someone else to come up with my spiritual autobiography?
• Is it just me, or is it kind of cool that I have reason to write a spiritual autobiography — and share it with near-strangers — every eight years or so?
• Is it bad that I still have the last two spiritual autobiographies I had to do, and that one of them is in board-game form?
• Is it bad or a sign of growth that they are pretty much useless to me developing a current relevant spiritual autobiography?
• Would it be at all funny or instructive if I did it in haiku or six-word form?

and, of course:

• Would you please post your own six-word or haiku-form spiritual autobiography in the comments?

Better belated than never

A while ago, I said I'd get back to friends.

Today's the big day.

(Belated) Day 30 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to have the greatest friends in the world, in so many ways and for so many reasons. I am grateful for the folks who are there with just the right answer (or just the right question) when I need it most. For the people who've known me forever, for whom history becomes a language. For the people who come into my life new and immediately become important. For the people who brighten my day, for the people who ask me if I want to grab a drink or go for a walk, for the people who know that they are important to me as I am to them, for the people who give better than they get, for the people who give advice and the ones who ask for it. Seriously. Greatest friends in the world.

Not my father's

I drive a 1990 Oldsmobile.

Here's why: It was my grandmother's.

She died in 2004, nearly 101 years old. I loved her very, very much. I do not think my love for her is why I got the car.

I think I got that enormous, heavy, super-reliable, nearly-antique car because my aunt and mother were worried about me. I was living in D.C. without one, you see, having sold my old car when I left the country.

And I was doing fine, but then I suddenly had a car. An awesome car, of which I am weirdly proud, since I have nothing whatever to do with its awesomeness. I had cousins who perhaps needed it more, but suddenly, it was my car, and I was in love.

I never get into that car without thinking of Granny. A couple of times, that has made me cry. Mostly, though, it just makes me grin.

(Belated) Day 29 of my month of gratitude: I am grateful for my 1990 Oldsmobile and all it represents: Reliable transportation, connection to my grandmother, and the sweet thoughtfulness of my mother and aunt.

Fairy tale

Not quite three weeks ago, the following exchange happened on my Facebook page:

[bzzzzgrrrl] loves it when she comes home to find the sweater fairy has been to call!

• [Friend1] I want a sweater fairy!
• [Friend2] sweater fairy?
• [Friend3] Is THAT what they call those moths!?!
• [bzzzzgrrrl] Ha!
  No, [Friend3] and [Friend2], the sweater fairy is a magical creature that leaves nice sweaters between the storm door and the regular door of all the good little boys and girls who are lucky enough to live next door to people who are losing weight and whose old size is similar to said boys' and girls' current size.
  I believe her to be related to the beet fairy, which is a magical creature that leaves beets (and sometimes other produce) for all the good little boys and girls who are lucky enough to live next door to people who have a CSA share but also a houseful of mildly picky eaters.
• [Friend3] Ah, I seeeeeee. I wonder if I can find a $100 bill fairy??
• [Cousin Mouse] oh, at first I read that as "the swearer fairy"

Well the sweater fairy has struck again, and this time, she's left not only sweaters but also shirts and pants and shorts and a vest, and she had to leave them in the garage because there were way too many to leave between the regular door and the storm door. I will not need to shop again for a year.

Day 28 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the generosity of the people around me, particularly of my kind and loving neighbor. I aspire to that level of thoughtfulness.

Chocolatey goodness

I'm running the Hot Chocolate Run next weekend — a 5K for Safe Passage, an organization that provides services for women and children who've experienced domestic violence. It's a good organization that does good work and if I'm going to run in New England in December, I'm glad to be running for them.

Plus, hot chocolate.

Day 27 of my month of gratitude: I'm thankful for whichever of you has already anonymously sponsored me. If you'd like to do just like that donor did, go to PledgeReg and look up my name. If you don't know my name, consider donating to Safe Passage directly.

Mmm mm good

You know how there are foods you love, that other people don't get, or dislike, or assume they'd dislike without trying it? I had a friend in college whose favorite was "special spaghetti," which was spaghetti with ketchup and Velveeta.

Day 26 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for anchovy pizza with tomatoes. And orange sherbet with hot fudge.

Yankee Doodle

There's an old thing people say up here (what do you call it if it's too long to be a saying and not funny enough to be a joke?):

• Non-Americans know any American is a Yankee.
• But Southerners know the real Yankees are from the Northeast.
• But other North Easterners know the real Yankees are from New England.
• But other New Englanders know the real Yankees are from New Hampshire.
• And other folks from New Hampshire know the real Yankees are the ones who eat apple pie for breakfast.

Day 25 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for pie for breakfast. The amazing feast I had today is not yet digested, but I am already looking forward to having pie for breakfast tomorrow. It might be my favorite Thanksgiving-related food tradition.

Listen up

A lot of the drive from Lake Placid back home is through Vermont. And in a lot of Vermont, the only radio option is NPR.

You know what NPR loooooves? Storycorps's National Day of Listening. And that love proves to be contagious. You spend all day listening to good stories told by good storytellers on the radio, and you start thinking of the storytellers in your own life. And you think about the amazing stories that are so far unrecorded. And you wind up at Walmart on the second Thanksgiving Day in a row, this time buying a digital recorder and batteries (OK, and pajamas, because you forgot those, but whatever).

And you bring the voice recorder to Thanksgiving, and you're delighted by the fact that your family stories include the Vichy government and arguments about Inuit women chewing shoe leather and what it feels like to remove a brain from a cadaver and the fact that a five-year-old can spell her friend's name (which is more impressive because that friend is named "Ellerbe"). And you suddenly stop being able to think about talking with your family without a recorder running, though you will probably be able to do it some time.

Day 24 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for stories and storytelling traditions that I get to be part of, including but not limited to my family's dinner table and spending some part of every Thanksgiving scanning the radio for Arlo Guthrie — found him this year. If you can find a link to the excellent interview I heard on NPR, you should send it to me. But meanwhile, here's what I thought I was looking for until I found the excellent interview and all the talk about the National Day of Listening.